Men of Fiction!
Men! Of Fairytale.

Sandy Rella
– Slipped on his arse and lost his gumboot.
*For adventurous children.

Gordy Locks
– Damned the three stairs.
*For the unadventurous children.

Ray Punzel
– Let down your beard!
*For the hip children.

Hansome & Greatful
– One gets the girl
*For the romantic fat children

Joe Right
– And heaven unfurls
*Old fashioned drama children!

Toby Honest.
-He calls it how he sees it.
*Teacher of kids, children…

Bright.

Your basket of life
Can it float in an ocean
Like lockers of love.

Tonight is a strife
What a tragic commotion
The heavens above!

Goodness! Such a fuss.
Outrage and irritation
Hit me with a bus

“I’m losing the plot”
Moment of degradation
The work was forgot

Was it of import?
I guess we’ll see tomorrow
Night to bright in sort.

I felt grande today, I exercised greatly, I achieved, I was motivated and energetic and impulsive and chatty and I ran with energy like my knee had never been.
Never been an issue. Like I’d run and never slow down.
I read some philosophical nonsense and I was inspired, I wanted to write; there and then. Reply! Reply in full, until the ink in my pen dried up, the batteries of my light died, the table eroded, my ideas explained thoughts and forms and all fundamentals of any idea or ideal were rectified or shown in full. Spelling mistakes, breathless ideas that sprout further ideas. Angry arguments FEELINGS. Feelings on a page. Ask for feelings on a page and you will receive. Mumbo jumbo, waxy genius, impoverished emplore-able understated overstated gibberish, opinions, functions from maths and the tide of the ocean converging in a river of red and green and blue and black. Until the night overwhelms and humanity sleeps, truly sleeps because all ideas have been thought and there is nothing less. Only for the editors. And the editors would work around the clock to find meaning and finally when they were done they would eat. But they would be blind. Blind because I would not have stopped I would have dug myself a hole my hands bearing blisters. Rags and riches passed and present. My lips cracked bleeding should i smile. The elements rage above as humanity furthers itself in any way the elected and unelected leaders and fighters and dictators and zookeepers should see fit. And fight. Scrap battle and battle for scraps and wraps for macdonalds would have some say in something, the gluttons of the world with their energy would say something or maybe just laugh. The idea of time would be lost and dark would rule. Electricity lost, power gained through other means. Clients of giants, under rocks they look only to find briefly a new life. But it burrows and all that is left is a dry husk of an ecosystem once fertile. The survivors burrowed, borrowed time is what we are living upon and we arent giving it back! No not us. The time we have is out diamond in the rough our wheeleless skateraft that may or may not take everyting we dont care about truly to the horizon and even if it breaks down someone else will pick up the burden because our burden is the same. The vacuum continues and. I wonder from my hole if this was real and how long are my nails did i chew them absentmindedly was i writing with a pen or did i make all of that up. How do i feel? Is it gone? Am i empty now? When will my lights go out, should they go out how should we all feel. Will the earth sigh for me. I don’t think so. China may piss a river in a day but whether or not they give a squirt is entirely not my goal. I am so small.
My ideals and ideas are so tiny. How do i capture that world. Are we afraid of failure? What happens when i run out of ink. When there is nothing left to say, record. Must i go on? Must i finish. What can i feel but hollow. Unfulfilled
UNFURFILLED. Drown me in melted gold and dig me out so that three eyed monsters from space 18 years from now will look upon me and call me beautiful. Call up someone 9 degrees of separation from me and let them know i’ve passed. Away?
There must be something in these halogen lights
I feel it coming for me. I can smell it. My anxious spirit writhes. But my temperature remains, the sun in its smug blinding red jacket of feathers and sequin will rise tomorrow after a long listless night of fucking and truly we are, we like him, HIM, the sun a man… Pathetic. Size matters sun. You’re a compendium! The funkenwagnals! The font that this is written with, the cold parchment this could be written upon and i curse you. That curse is a blessing though because it just carries on. IT. It it it.
This is it. It is so many things. If i get a problem. IT. Call “I” call “T”. See who comes first. They’ll tell you to check the “O” and check the “N” and then The “o” and the “f” and the other “f”.
And you might get back to producing something. And i might clamber out of this hole. My nails are long. My point is nails. I am a nail. A nail in the coffin seems too bleak, too obvious, too cliche. Hit the nail on the head? On the contrary. Lets be contrary shall we. Nailed it. Snailed it. Stale frail gale rail revile beguile smile file for later alligator mission stater hater of my own work i hate how i’ve come to this… and china… I’m sorry i don’t know what. Tomorrow is a new day. The lights in my head still flash, this writing. the opposite to writers block.
Both are terrible. Bring me my editors. There must be some wisdom in here somewhere.

Yesterday evening I was officially done. Put on my sporting kit at 4, lay down for a brief nap.
Blam out-cold.

I awoke at midnight only a little bit confused. “whoa, must’ve needed that”.
Thankfully I was exhausted enough to immediately fall back to sleep.

Today I tripple snoozed my alarm and arose close to 9am.
I went for a run, took some laxatives and did some french revision for an hour before my midday
lecture+tutorial combo.

So there I was, here I am, there I went.

And I was ANXIOUS.
I’ve been badly asthmatic in the past (probably misdiagnosed, you all wonder- because that so many people are- i’ve read) anyway, breathing was hard back then. I was a fat kid.

But something new, new to me that is: Anxiety. It rears its ugly head maybe once every 6 months [or not even that frequent]. Naturally i’m self diagnosing here. I feel a pressure. Somewhere between the inability to complete small jobs and activites; vast procrastination and overwhelming sense of uselessness.
I just need to scream.
To bite, punch, kick.
I don’t understand.
I feel the need to rant and rave.
But most likely what i’ll say wont be succinct.
What I describe as the problem, won’t truly relate.
The beauty of it, is I know it will pass.
A good night of sleep, the right diet, a chat with a friend.

I think this stunned feeling came about from the big weekend I had.
A lack of sleep, my brain was quivering and so my body was jangling.
I got 15 ours sleep the night before and I was slow to awaken.
And when I did I had things to do, but they weren’t needed to be done immediately:
BUT there were so many of them that I should do some of them.
And smack bang in the middle of my thoughts was:
the things I need to do most, are the things I know the least about.

I just needed a bike ride and some food. Out of the house.
Sit, study, gain some perspective.

I hate how my list of things grows. YET:

I have no debt
I have no children of my own that count on me.
My family is safe and secure.

My drive, my engine is within me.
If I go out into the world, things will be expected.
To reside, hidden under the covers would be safe.
Only to emerge to feed.
That is not the way of the Patrick.
That isn’t a human’s natural habitat anymore.
There are expectations.
There will be ups and down-down-downs.
“name a person you know that’s been GREAT for more than 2 months straight”
Name them and we’ll ask them what it’s like to have a perfect life.

“you there”

Not a worry
Not a stress.
Well be sorry
We ever asked
Perfection is unmasked.
–
Life aint perfect.
Not for anyone.
I’m better than just ok now.

What a weekend away!
Melbourne, work, friends, dinners and drinks.
I bought the birthday girl flowers, I kicked the soccer ball with my brother and did a cameo at work – giving the boss the day off. I got recreational with my pals and used my best friend as an emotional sponge, don’t worry I bought him dinner first. haha.
Returning to home more catchups are due, though its of grave import that I spend the next 6 days hunkering down and studying. There will be a balance struck. Exercise regime re-continues. Sleep will be vital to dissolve this strung out feeling.
Its good to be back.
Safe to go to ground.
Putting down my pack.
Relaxed, safe and sound.

Do we have any crackers?
No.. We’re crackalackin.

REVELATION!

I realised connect-4 is just a longer version of noughts and crosses.
And therefore should go from the premise of “if the first person isn’t retarded, they cannot lose”.

It’d be great to get some feedback. I don’t want to look into it anymore than I have to;
i’ve lost enough of my life to that shizzle.

I go to the gym so that I don’t worry about what to wear.

After that! Should I mention-

I’ll dye my hair-

white, for attention!

They’ll stop and stare.

At my lack of convention.

Though irrefutable
I wont be beautiful.

Beautiful things, don’t ask for attention.

…
I would like a cologne that smells like blackcurrants.
I would like another cup of tea.

I’d like to buy some pleasant scents for my room.
Or should I save my cents.
Incense isn’t cheap you know.
I think I sense where this is going.

The Human.
The Planet.
Our co-existence.

This person hears only nearby sound.
My person sees – From the top of a mountain: A treat, to see so far.
Let us be gluttons! Taste all flavours! All at once if we can. Laugh and grow fat.
Contact my hands and know the feel of touch.
May I overdose on smell. Rain on warm cement, old washing. Tell me brain can I smell everything there is. Will I find bliss in smell? May I fill my room with smelly things. A tangle. A mess!
Choose to be enveloped? Offended with contrast or push the boundaries; a euphoric enfilade of pleasant perfumes.

I drank table-water at a cafe, until it all became clear.

I am an artist, therefore this is art.

All art is the artist’s memorial. A monument to his desperate mortal desires.
The best art helps us practice our own death, and in doing so reminds us to live our lives for real.

Art is what you can get away with.

SCHOOL:

School
A
Prison
For
Outcasts
Called
Children

L=12, I=9, G=7, H=8, T=20, N=14, I=9, N=14, G=7
=100!

Lightning the “One Dollar Word”.

Oxford ‘how are ya’. In recent times any question may be rebounded with “just google it”.

Polite dismissive.
From conversational catch
To straight out ignore.

A fantastic friend of mine made the effort this weekend to pay me a visit in Tasmania.
I would never ask that of someone. But pay he did – in booking airfares for him and a friend.
I’d never met his pal. Also mexican. I was worried but I offered my room to them just the same.
Facebook read “Let the 1month bender begin”. I don’t drink. Was this a dynamic that would work?
Could this stranger be trusted? Wait and see. (maybe not the perfect ideal to live by)
They made the plunge and touched down in Hobart for the long weekend of “Labor Day”.
Here we go!

Generally a pretty quiet town. We got the ball rolling immediately. I’d done some cleaning and exercised all day. I was behind the 8-ball. Exhausted and Excited captures me well I think for a lot of the time.
Juan and Ray. My good pals, made themselves at home. Mum got out the globe and the world map, made some tapas and abducted the conversation for a few hours. I squeezed in a nap and tried to get it together.
After a tour of the house, and once the food was all digested we headed out. It was Saturday and the night was still young. Beers were drank, and it was time for me to play tour guide.
Knowledge was dropped. Chats were had. A small crew formed and a miniscule group of us formed.
Quality over quantity rings true once more.
For a time I couldn’t speak and had to go to the bathroom to compose myself. “Water, I need water”.
We hung out in a retired old bus, drank and talked of the world. We interrupted a date, I caught them as they were leaving and made them sit with us. They were nice, they were from Denmark.
I didn’t ask their names. Because knowing someone’s name means you have a power over them.

Maybe I’ll stop asking names. That could be funny.

So we sat on the bus.
I explained “HOW ARE YA”
Still struggling with the inability to speak true to my grande thoughts it was a test.
Point at anything, and say “How are ya”. Now change your tone. Say it however you like and try-
to just imply whatever you want to say. It’s not as ambiguous as it sounds.
Imply connotations.
Say it in celebration.
Use it on your relations
Anywhere in the nation.
WAYYY!
Howareyaaaa!

Europeans really struggle with it.
I say how are ya. They say good.
My friend meets the girl of his dream and they go on a cute date
“HOW are ya”
You need a drink
So you ask for an extra bit of “how are ya”
It’s beautiful.
Naturally the Scandies sat captivated.
We let them tell their story making our time a shared experience.
And then they were gone. Ships passing in the night.

Pretty girl: “I like your jacket it looks suede”
Tim: “Spoiler alert, it’s not.”
Tim: “She could have just said hey”

Later after much, much DJ we went to the bakehouse.
Where the Ray got a Steak and Pepper Pie.
“How-are-yah” He said in his dulcet mexican tones.
Moments later he was enjoying a tactical siesta, obviously feeling he had won the day.
There was no arguing
We cabbed home
I was wired.
just lay
in bed
huh

“Samurai Froin!” (Friend).
-say it out loud and smile-
Like me every time I do a criss-cross in skipping.
Irresistible.

The Quaker: S.P.I.C.E of life.

Simplicity
Peace
Integrity
Community
Equality
Stewardship

I ask you,
Young and beautiful
Tell me true.
What mark will
On this earth-
You make, irrefutable.